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Red vs. Blue: Rogue Agent
This is the story focusing on Freelancer Oregon, or Recovery Two, and how he met the pest and Rogue Freelancer, Alaska. Chapter 1: The Meta "This is Recovery One. I have located Agent Vermont." Recovery One looked at the dead Freelancer. He was on the ground, face up, his visor cracked. Vermont had a pale face, blue eyes, and graying hair. Recovery One sighed. There was no AI here. Suddenly he heard footsteps. He turned around, and saw a Brute Shot in the gray. He pulled out his Battle Rifle, cocking it. 32. 32 Rounds, 32 seconds. He counted down. 19... 18... 17... But a shot was fired, arcing through the yellow air, and towards Oregon. Oregon looked up, and moved to the side, the sharp sting of Shrapnel going into his side. He watched as the figure stepped out of the dust. "Agent Maine.", Oregon murmured, Maine looking straight at him. Maine hissed, and then jumped forward, three shots from the Battle Rifle coming towards him. The shots slowed down, Oregon stopped breathing, the water on the shore sitting still. Maine, known as the Meta, dropped out of the way, stepping behind Oregon. The shots started to speed up, going back to their normal acceleration, the water starting to wave and wind, and Oregon starting to breathe. Time went back to normal, and the Meta hit Oregon in the back. He searched him. Nothing. The Beta was gone... The Meta looked up, hissing. He took out his Pistol, and aimed at Oregon's head. Then he thought. No. If the Meta was going to retrieve the AI, he had to let Oregon live. The Meta turned around, and walked off, back into the Horizon. Oregon lifted his head, and smiled. He was still alive. He would've been dead if he hadn't pretended to be knocked unconscious. Oregon ran towards a nearby Warthog, and drove in the opposite direction. Chapter 2: Another Freelancer Oregon listened to Command carefully. "It has been confirmed that there is an AI here, and that Agent Massachusetts was KIA." "I know, I saw that thing myself. It would've killed me, too. But I left the Beta with you.", Oregon replied, walking through the stone relic. The greenery was going through the beige stone, weeds popping up everywhere. There was the Freelancer. Brown armor, steel trim. He was face down, in the middle of a small waterfall, leading into a spring. A diamond shaped area. Another footstep. This was getting routine. Oregon turned around, but instead of the Meta, it was a Freelancer, wearing brown armor with white trim. This figure was holding a Shotgun, and at this range, point blank angle, Oregon would be dead in one shot. "Who, are you?", Oregon carefully spoke, watching the figure raise his Shotgun. "Maine didn't kill this one...", the figure said, with a raspy voice, so dull it could have come from a computer program. "So let me guess," Oregon quietly said, "You did?" The figure nodded. "The Meta isn't the only one collecting AI, but I, my friend, am destroying them. The Freelancer program is corrupt. They've been abusing the AI." Oregon grabbed his Battle Rifle, and raised it. "Yeah, and I'm married to the queen of Sheelah. Go jump in a well." The figure shot, and the last thing Oregon remembered, was a large explosion, dilated with water. RECOVERY Beacon Activated Chapter 3: Away Oregon awoke, the world hazy. He was freezing. He stood up, and felt a vibration on his head. He looked up, and water fell down on him. His visor was cracked, his helmet quickly filling with the ice cold water. He jumped up, and found it hard to stand. He stumbled around, the water dripping off his soaked armor. He looked around, leaning on to the ground for support. He saw it was sunset. He had been out for 3 hours. Oregon saw he was alone. He walked up the ramp, and back out onto the stone pillar he had seen the Rogue Agent on. Oregon watched the footage over, scanned the body profile of the Rogue Agent, matching it's color, voice, and movement. He watched the screen identify the rogue as Agent Alaska. Agent Oregon smiled. "This is Recovery Two, this is Recovery Two, come in Linda." Oregon's comm link came to life. It was command. "I told you Oregon, don't call me Linda." Oregon looked around. "Fine. Well, COMMAND, I have located a Rogue Freelancer." Linda, the woman behind the communications, stared down at her shoes. "Have you found Maine? Have you incapacitated him?" Oregon's brows furrowed. "No Linda, I found someone." Linda stared at a screen inside her dimly lit room. "The one who activated your Recovery Beacon?" Oregon's jaw dropped. "You got that! That was three hours ago! Why didn't you send reinforcements! We could have caught that guy!" Linda sighed. "Sorry... But we could have caught him!" Linda sighed again, yelling, "Who the hell is it Carver!?" Oregon winced. "Don't call me that." "Sorry...", Linda replied. Carver spoke for one final time. "Agent Alaska." The line shut off. "Oregon? Carver? Recovery Two!?" Linda realized she was speaking to no one. Oregon jumped off the platform, and into the ruins, opposite of the ramp down to his Warthog. He knew it would be gone. "Good riddance...", he said, walking towards the entrance to the caves. Chapter 4: Relic Oregon wandered down the caves, his large fear of bats wrecking him senseless... The water dripping, the ground crunching, the yellow light from the relic. It was strange how it still worked, after thousands of years. Oregon heard the ground stop crunching. He was on a metal foundation, withered away by the dripping water. He walked up a ramp, dirtied with animal skeletons and what was left of some dead insects. Oregon stepped on one, crushing it with his large foot. He lifted it up, and was surprised to see liquids from the insect on his foot. He suddenly raised his BR, turning quickly at a 180 degree angle. He swallowed. That insect had just died. But from what? Oregon slowly continued unto the platform. There was a large red target on the platform. But that had always been there. Oregon calmed himself down. He was just panicking... Maybe the bats did this. Bats... Oregon suddenly turned around, not surprised to see the barrel of a M6C going facing the center of his forehead. The detail was immense from here, a silver barrel with a gray colored spiral going down it, the black pistol showing something unreadable. Behind the pistol was the Rogue Agent. "Put the gun down.", Alaska said, his pistol right between his eyes. "God dammit Alaska...", Oregon cursed, looking at Alaska. "What killed those bugs?", he asked, Alaska smiling behind his visor. "I knew you were afraid of bats.", Alaska murmured, his grin getting larger. Oregon backed up. "I'll put my gun down, when you put yours down, okay?" Alaska sighed. "Don't make me shoot you." Oregon knew only one thing to do, but it would require perfect timing. He took a deep breath, and in a quick motion, axe kicked the pistol out of Alaska's hands, hitting a stalactite. It broke into pieces upon impact. Alaska looked up, his index finger obviously broken from the kick. He popped his finger back into place, an immense pain going through, and readied his fists. Oregon was the one who gave the smile. "Quicker than you are, Al." Alaska got angry. "My name is not Al!" Oregon laughed, "It's short for Alaska, moron!" The Rogue jumped forward, landing on Oregon. Three punches to the face. Alaska reached for his knife, just for a few seconds, but that was enough time for Oregon to react. He slammed his left leg upwards, hitting Alaska's crotch. He screamed in pain, falling backwards. His knife plummeted to the rocky ground below. Oregon jumped up. His helmet was cracked, but it was too dark to see any of Oregon's features. Alaska looked up, on the ramp, nose bleeding. His helmet had come off when he had rolled down, and his features were clearly visible. He had crew cut dirty blonde hair, a large amount of freckles, his teeth with a slight gap in them. His eyes were blue, and he was handsome to most, but at the moment, his bloodied face was hiding his looks. Oregon laughed. "Don't you see Carver? That this project is corrupt!? The AI that were made were-" "Abused?" A calm voice said. A minuscule greenish figure in a Samurai-like Freelancer armor appeared, looking down at Alaska. "Meet the Beta.", Oregon addressed. "I understand your concern for us, but please, Freelancer Alaska, refrain from doing anything..." Beta turned and looked at Oregon, "How did you say it master?" "Stupid.", Oregon replied. "Ah yes, stupid. Please refrain from doing anything stupid." Alaska, rubbed away some blood with his glove, turning a rusty color. "You, Beta, are a figment of the Alpha. Nothing more." The Beta seemed surprised. He turned towards Alaska. "Please explain." Oregon interrupted as Alaska was about to speak, "Beta, no!" Alaska laughed. "Don't listen to Carver. He has no clue what is going on." The Beta spoke, "Freelancer Alaska, please. Explain." "Inside my head, now!", Oregon demanded. Beta looked back at him. "Instruction, retire!" Beta sighed. It was a completely fake sigh, but it was real to Beta. "Executing.", Beta responded, his dim green glow fading, de-pixelizing with the rest of him. "Now to deal with you," Oregon blurted, looking at Alaska. "Command says you've been on their asses for the last few weeks... Looks like that's about to change." Oregon pulled out his pistol, and raised it. "Let me grab my helmet. It would feel better to have it on, the shock wouldn't be as bad for you either." Oregon laughed once more. "If you think your helmet is going to help you stay alive, you are fucking wrong." Alaska smiled. "No, it won't help me live, but it will help me do this!" There was a bright white flash, and suddenly Alaska was gone. "Dammit! Command, this is Recovery Two. Freelancer Alaska has escaped again." Linda sighed. "Need a ride?", she asked. "Yeah, my Hog' kinda got totaled." Linda laughed, "I'll send it in immediately." Chapter 5: Briefing "Yes Councilor, I understand. But now, after all this, hunting down the Rogue Agent is my primary objective now." The Director peered at Agent Oregon. "I don't see why you can let this go. Freelancer Alaska has nothing against you." Agent Oregon spoke. "But he has something against us." In perfect cue with Oregon, Beta appeared. "He tells us lies. We understand that the AI were-" "Not now!", Oregon whispered. "Recovery Two, a new Recovery Beacon has just come up. I suggest you inspect it." Oregon tilted his head back, "What!?", he questioned, "That's the fifth one this month!" "Someone else can handle it. I am going to find the Rogue Agent." "Wait. Recovery Two.... Find him. Kill him if you have to. No remorse." Agent Oregon nodded, and walked out of the room. Chapter 6: Hunting Oregon sat in the Pelican, polishing his red and white helmet. He was unmasked, but besides the slightest glow of light from the cockpit, all that was visible was his silhouette. "Popping the hatch in five.", the Pilot said. Oregon put down his handkerchief. "Okay!", he yelled. Oregon stuck his handkerchief in his rack above, the words OREGON in plain black on a silver cut of metal. He put his helmet on, and the hatch opened, sunlight shining in. The ground was sandy, golden and baked, and nearby was a gigantic rock, sticking up in a form almost alien. He was heading straight for it. The pilot yelled towards him, "We are dropping as soon as we reach the foot of the mountain. From there, you trigger the decoy, and wait for Alaska to come!" Oregon nodded his head, the pilot giving a thumbs up. The dunes were flying past, still, yet wild. Their glow was almost holy. They reflected off of the sun, from here, as big as it could get. Oregon had been in many different areas, but this was the strangest. He grabbed his Battle Rifle hanging on his rack, above the handkerchief, and loaded it, standing up. His pistol, on his thigh at the moment, gleamed silver. His rifle's scope a deep blue. They all, yet so different, blended in with the sand below. In a few seconds this bright sand disappeared, giving way to a dull beige rock. The Pelican started to descend, the rock getting bigger. Dry dead bushes were everywhere. They were sprouting out from the rock, but dying as soon as they hit the sun. Oregon payed no matter to this. The Pelican came to a stop, and Oregon jumped out. The Pelican flew back off, its hatch closing. Oregon looked up. About 200 meters away, was a plateau. Oregon wanted to get there. His AI, Beta, was with him, and still nothing from the Recovery Beacon. Oregon looked back, and saw the Pelican hovering, looking straight at him. He knew what he had to do. He started running up the mountainside, and at the edge of a small gap to the plateau, was a plain gray armor. Oregon pulled out his Battle Rifle, and saw the armor. Ballistics gel was leaking from all over it. It was, in fact, a fake. Oregon raised his Battle Rifle, and pointed it at the helmet. He shot, three rounds spiraling through the air, in a yellow stream of heat. The bullets penetrated the armor, and a red liquid looking similar to blood gushed out of the armor. Oregon kicked the armor. It fell into the gorge, a tight, but deep space. The plain suit fell into the darkness, Oregon turning around. A ringing. His visor blinked the words: RECOVERY BEACON ACTIVATED, the perfect words to trigger Agent Alaska. Oregon turned around, and the Pelican started to fly away. The Beacon had worked. Oregon sighed. A sigh of relief, it was. So far, everything was going as planned. Oregon shut off the Beacon, and heard the distinct buzz of a Warthog engine. He turned around, and he saw the Warthog ramp over him. The car had missed him by inches, and went over the gorge into the plateau. In the driver seat, was a figure in black armor with white trim. Freelancer Alaska. His helmet was repaired. Oregon raised his Battle Rifle. Alaska jumped out of the Warthog. He was holding a Rocket Launcher. It fired. A large ball of fire was hurtling towards Oregon. Quickly, he jumped away. His arm hung over the edge of the mountain. Oregon watched who jumped over. Alaska did. He removed his helmet, and Oregon saw a broken nose. His left glove was missing, and it's index finger was covered in a white bandage. Oregon realized his Battle Rifle had gone over the edge. He cursed, as another rocket came through the air. Oregon jumped, the Rocket hitting his foot. He went flying down the mountain, in a series of flips which looked somewhat like a jet stalling. Oregon hit the ground, though his Recovery Beacon wasn't activated yet. His foot was in an excruciating amount of pain. The red Freelancer lifted his head, and walking towards him, was Agent Alaska. He cursed again. "Al! what are you doing!", he screamed, his foot's wound healing from his enhancement. Inside his head, he saw Beta appear. Calmly, he stated, "Sir, I suggest you use your cloaking." Oregon smiled. He had forgotten about it. Oregon nodded, and suddenly he was gone. Alaska stopped walking. "Cloaking? Keen. But I'll find you! Your wounded, and you can't do much." Alaska turned around, and with all his force, slammed down with his Rocket Launcher. Oregon collapsed. Alaska pulled out his Pistol, and looked down on Oregon. "Should've done this back in the caves. I think it's time you learned your lesson.". Alaska raised his pistol, and 3... 2... 1... A gunshot. Chapter 7: Alone The night was cold. The sky was pitch black, and the wind blew what was once beautiful, gleaming sand, to the north. Oregon was surprised to wake up, a sharp stinging in his chest. He was alone. "Beta?", he asked. No reply. Beta was gone. "Beta! B! Dammit!" The Warthog was gone, Beta was gone, and he was alone, hundreds of miles into the desert, meant to trap Alaska, but instead used on Oregon. There was nothing Oregon could do. He was alone, in the middle of nowhere, and his AI was about to be destroyed. Maybe he already was. There were a thousand possibilities, but, either way, Oregon was dead. He tested his radio. Nothing. He scanned the area. No sign of life for miles. Oregon blinked. He suddenly stood up, and started walking. Down towards the dunes. For six hours he walked, the light finally peering in. A rattlesnake slithered away. The heat started to come back. It started to pound the Freelancer. He was going to die. He knew that in a few days, his life would be over. There was no hope for him, or the Beta, and the madman known as Alaska would never be caught. Oregon was a soldier, not a three year old, yet he knew he was going to die. The sky was lit a pale red. The moon was going down, the mountain range now not in sight. There were dunes going passed the horizon. Oregon was thirsty, the sun beating down on him like a drum. He finally started slowing down. Then he collapsed. Meanwhile, not far off from Oregon's location, stood Alaska. He was talking with the beta, his Warthog parked, a few crates beside. "Beta... I know you must survive, but you will die if I leave you here. Your existence will be disintegrated." Beta looked up. "No." He charged towards the Warthog, and disappeared coming in contact with it. He knew his master was close by. His waypoint indicated 371 Meters. The warthog sprang to life, and as Alaska looked in surprise, charged off at full throttle. It was time to save his master. It was a strange sight as a Warthog drove itself in the dunes, but no one was there to watch. Oregon raised his head. A warthog veered to a stop next to him. Oregon thought he was hallucinating. He stood up, and touched the Warthog. It was warm, but not air. He smiled, his senses coming back in a rain of adrenaline. "B!", Oregon yelled, jumping into the Turret seat. "I'll shoot, you drive!", Oregon yelled, Alaska coming out of the dust. The warthog started driving away, but Oregon stopped it. "Beta. We are facing him. Together. Get inside my head. Now." The Warthog deactivated. Beta was back in the system. "Let's own this idiot." Oregon jumped out, unarmed. His pistol was gone, his battle rifle, in the bottom of a gorge, and Alaska had more ammo for his Rocket, plus, a Flamethrower. Oregon prepared himself. The Rogue Agent smiled. "Oregon, your going to be a dead man by tomorrow!" "Tomorrow? Are you kidding? That's too late!", Oregon said sarcastically. Alaska charged his Flamethrower. "Well then how 'bout right now?" Oregon raised his fists. "Bring it." Alaska was about to pull the trigger when a Longsword flew overhead. Alaska looked away, at the Longsword, like an angel from above to Oregon. Oregon charged forward, and jumped on top of Alaska. He fell backwards, dropping on top of Oregon. In a chokehold, Oregon started pressing. Alaska was dying. Alaska teleported away. He had escaped for a second time. Chapter 9: Hunted Oregon was back at Command, again, staring at the Councilor via a monitor. Oregon sighed. "This man is crazy!", Oregon yelled. The Councilor stared. "This guy wants to kill the AI! Just because... Well, for many reasons!" The Councilor blinked. "Like what? Please be specific." Oregon sighed. "I.... I don't know. The thing is, this guy has a special enhancement. Teleportation. He can go from Antarctica to the Sahara Desert in an instant! He could be anywhere." The Councilor responded. "That is not exact. His teleportation, using all of the armor's power, could take him at a max of 1000 miles. But usually he uses short jumps, up to 100 miles, that use a tenth of that energy. And also. We know his location. Your helpful AI, the Beta, helped us. He put a Tracking Beacon on Alaska's armor. He is currently 97 miles from here. The city. If you are willing..." Oregon pulled out his pistol. "Always." Three hours later, Oregon found himself heading down a train, in a plainclothes operation. He didn't fit in. For once, there was his face, plain and clear. Oregon's features were handsome, yet darkening. His skin was as pale as snow, his eyes as deep brown as a deadly mud. His hair a blackish brown, along the sides, it was gray. Oregon had rings around his eyes as dark and large as they could get. His forehead had a stitches going down the right side, from his hair to his eyebrow. He was wearing a navy blue suit, a white linen shirt with a collar and buttons, and a red and black tie, carrying a briefcase. In a larger luggage cart, was his armor. Under his clothes was the black undersuit worn with the armor. The Armor was large and heavy, and had to be in a large briefcase. In his smaller briefcase was his Battle Rifle, a metal Knife, his Pistol, and a letter from his father, who had died from cancer when he was five. Oregon sighed as the train slowed to a stop. He walked out of the train. The city was large, and he was heading to the downtown district, abandoned, the bridge towering to the northeast. Oregon walked up the stairs, and into the streets, empty, with no visitors. Oregon stepped into a small store, that read CLOSED, on the door. This store had been abandoned for 12 years. Oregon walked into the storage room, and removed his plainclothes. He looked rather muscular with the skintight undersuit on, and opened his large briefcase. Oregon turned the lights on, the electricity up by a generator that was getting old. Oregon slipped on his leg armor. He put on his boots, and then started on his arms. His gloves came first, then his bicep armor. Soon he was putting on his shoulder-pads. Then he slipped on his chest armor, tightening it to the right fit. He latched it down, and walked over to his helmet. He pulled it out, and put it on the ground. He grabbed a yellowed paper behind the note. The message from his father. One tear ran down Oregon's eye as he slipped it into his undersuit, clipping between his shoulder and shoulder-pad. Then he grabbed his helmet. He cocked his neck, and then put it on. Oregon turned off the generator, and walked towards the emergency exit. He opened the door, and suddenly, he was past the downtown district, in the blocked off, Villa District. He was just meters away from killing Alaska, and he was ready. Chapter 10: Showdown Alaska stood there. He was vending a soda from a vending machine, when he heard walking. He turned around, and there was the pest. Freelancer Oregon. He pulled out his Battle Rifle, holding it steady in one hand, and his knife, on the other. Oregon did the same. Right then and right there they were equals. Completely alike, but so different. Oregon readied his knife. Alaska loaded his Battle Rifle. There were no foul words or taunts. Only the metallic swipe of a blade, and the loading of a weapon. Alaska cocked his neck. Oregon walked forward. It was time. The battle began. Alaska charged forward, his Battle Rifle ejecting rounds. Oregon was quick to dodge. He did a barrel-roll, behind Alaska, and swung his knife towards Alaska's neck. Alaska caught the kinfe with his hands, the silver blade searing through his glove. His hand turned red, but he jumped back, smiled, and charged ahead. Oregon flipped his battke rifle, the butt of it hitting Alaska in the face. He was, again, on the ground. But not giving up. He grabbed his Battle Rifle and shot three rounds into Oregon's stomach. "AACH!", Oregon cried, falling to the ground. Alaska looked over him in remorse, and started to walk away, when Oregon pulled his knife from under his chest, and impaled Alaska in the shoulder with it. Alaska ripped it out, and threw it at Oregon. It hit his visor, chipping it, but not much more. Oregon grabbed his pistol, and with his Battle Rifle, fired heavily. Alaska blocked his attacks by twirling his Battle Rifle, but only temporarily. One shot came through, and Alaska stumbled, Oregon charging. he swung his battle rifle forward, but Alaska swung his too. They clashed, a spark riveting through the crisp, stake air. Who was stronger? The two held their rifles steady, pushing at each other, when Oregon let his Rifle back. He swung to the left, and spun around once, his Battle Rifle coming into contact with Alaska's helmet. It was thrown off, into a store window. Alaska looked back, a black eye and large bruise on his cheek. Oregon ram back towards his knife, and started to arc in a backward motion, but Alaska was too fast. He twisted Oregon's hand left, and Oregon screamed in agony. He fell back, and Alaska hit his helmet off with the butt of his rifle. Oregon's dark eyes were menacing, but Alaska was not scared. Alaska smiled, and jumped left, grabbing his knife again. Oregon swerved back, and his knife went into Alaska's back, narrowly missing his backbone. Alaska yelled, and pulled the knife out, blood lurching into the sky. Alaska kicked Oregon right in the face, falling back onto the ground. A UNSC Medical Station. Obviously abandoned. Oregon started crawling, and saw a canister of Biofoam hanging on a rack. He reached up to it, but his hand was smashed down by Agent Alaska. Alaska readied his pistol. He loaded it, and pointed it straight at Oregon's head. Oregon looked up at him, and smiled. "Go to hell." He pulled up a heavy socket wrench, from under the racks, and whacked Oregon in the face with it. Oregon heard a crack, and the goon fell to the ground. Oregon grabbed his knife, flipped it forward, and readied it. He walked up to Alaska, who was bleeding from the hit to his head. He would die anyways. Tetanus. Rust Poisoning. So Oregon decided to make it all the more painful. He kneeled down, and murmured, "So long, bitch." Then his knife stabbed into Alaska's head. A silent swish, and a crack. It was over. Epilogue Freelancer Oregon, or Recovery One, drove forward in his Warthog. He smiled. He had finally done what he was meant too. Freelancer Alaska was dead. His knife was gone, still in Alaska's head, but Oregon didn't care. Command was ahead, and he would finally be what he thought of as home. Oregon drove up to the gate. It was open. As he drove in, he felt a shock-wave, and suddenly his Warthog was being hurtled through the air, only dirt and flames visible. Oregon jumped out, watching three Recovery Agents run by. Another purple blast. Oregon observed the chaos from a good point. He was carefully observing who or what did this. A Freelancer drove a mongoose in the direction of the gate. A beam came out of nowhere, and the Mongoose exploded. Oregon watched the horror from afar. "Command, read? This is Agent Oregon." Oregon waited. No response. "Command? Linda? Vic? Hello?" Oregon sighed. "Help! Trapped! Command! Red! HELP!" That was the only response. Slurred voices over a radio filled with noise. Oregon closed his eyes. He looked at a passing Recovery Agent. "Hey! What the hell is happening!?" The Recovery Agent looked at Oregon, then to his left. "What do you think, Einstein!? The Meta is here!" The agent ran off, and Oregon yelled. The Meta appeared behind Oregon. "Wait... The Meta is here!? Holy Sh-!" Oregon felt a crunch, and fell to the ground, knocked unconscious. The Meta looked at him, and walked off. 30px|center =Comments= Please Comment, I worked hard on this story. Nicely done, as a RvB fan I can appreciate this article! :)